


Violet Eyes

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [60]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 16:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17749271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: It was time for Stephen to finally tell Tony about Dormammu.





	Violet Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Sixty...damn I have a problem.

   Stephen woke suddenly, heart pounding in his chest and the echoes of a deep baritone voice laughing in his head. He was sat up in his bed, hand clutching at his chest while he struggled to control his breathing. It was too dark, much to dark, threatening what fragile grasp on reality he had, the lights flickered on, his magic acting instinctively to try and calm him. He gave a full-bodied flinch when the Cloak came into his room, swaying at the end of the bed with that familiar aura of concern. He didn’t pay it any more mind then that, still struggling to take in air through the noose like feeling around his neck.

   “Stephen?” came a groggy voice from his side, then a hand was curling around his bicep and that was _too much_.

   He pulled his arm away and was up and off the bed in a flash, the cool air hitting his sweat dampened skin and making him shiver. He stared down at Tony’s confused and tired form, sitting half up in the bed, arm still outstretched toward him. Even just seeing that made his skin crawl and his breath grow shallow.

   Tony blew out a sigh, the hand flopped down onto the covers as he blinked up at him wearily, “are you ok?”

   Was he? No, he most definitely was not. The Cloak came closer, waiting for Stephen’s inevitable command, it was perhaps the only sentient thing he could stand to touch him right now. Tony’s mouth was slowly turning down in a frown and Stephen tried to focus, to calm his whirring mind.

   “I’m ok,” he managed to croak, the noose tightening.

   Tony sat up fully, hands rubbing harshly at his eyes, his dark disheveled hair standing on end in a way that usually made Stephen smile, but tonight he only felt cold, “right, nightmare?”

   If Stephen was more himself, he would accuse the man of treating him like a child, of course it was a nightmare, what a stupid fucking question. No, Stephen just woke up feeling like he was dying in the middle of night for shits and giggles.

   Instead he let the urge to flee overwhelm him, allowed his eyes to dart toward the doorway where he could wrap himself in the protective embrace of Cloak, breathe fresh hair, and perhaps banish those searing violet eyes that were currently burning through his mind, “I…I’m just going…I’m going to go.”

   Tony’s mouth opened, brows now furrowed in a hard distress, but Stephen was already leaving, back turned to the man still seated in his bed. The Cloak followed, attaching itself to his shoulders, only just tolerable. He was gone before Tony could speak a word, before he would be dragged into wretched questions and grating concern.

   It took all but one swirl of the hand to summon his belstaff coat and a t-shirt, one of the only nice things he kept from his surgeon days. Besides being warm enough to withstand the crisp fall air, it had the duel purpose of hiding his pajama pants. The Cloak, for its part, dutifully turned itself into a thick red scarf.

   These were minor preparations, but he couldn’t stand to be in the Sanctuary one moment longer. He slipped out the large oak door, being sure it was closed correctly, and quickly maneuvered his trembling fingers into formation, so he would be notified by any unusual events while he was away.

   From there he fled into the abandoned streets and the ghostly light being spread by the street lamps. The cold was a shock to his system, the sweat on his forehead seeming to freeze to his skin instantly, his breath coming out in small puffs before him. Stephen didn’t care, it was a welcome distraction. He simply slipped his bare hands deep into his pockets and bowed his head against the gentle wind.

   He focused only on his feet beneath him, the sight of his black shoes tapping against frosty concrete, counted the lines of each slab as he went, catalogued every little pinch, chill, and ache in his physical body, felt the unsettling weight of the Eye around his neck, where he summoned it to. Anything to hide from the hazy images that were more memory then dream now, more pain then surprise.

   He hadn’t had nightmares of Dormammu in nearly twelve months, since the defeat on Titan and his eventual revival at the hands of the one and only Tony Stark. No, he was more likely to be visited by the 14 000 000 failed futures he was subjected to, the sight of Tony, Peter, an array of Avengers dying in painful, helpless ways. Or worse, he got to relieve each and every person who was dusted on Earth because of his choice, no matter their eventual resurrection.

   In many ways, all that was a relief. He had foolishly begun to hope he had somehow escaped the clutches of Dormammu’s memory, of the thousands of painful ends he had to endure. It was difficult, especially now, to qualify his suffering, to try and categorize threats and the worth of his sacrifices but damned if Stephen didn’t try. He liked to be factual, he enjoyed turning things into easily dissectible experiences, even his own pain.

   Dormammu had never been quantifiable, however. Despite everything the Mad Titan did, how close he came to destroy the Earth, Stephen would happily endure the pain, the guilt, the fear, a million more times, even endure those visions if it meant he could erase Dormammu from his memory.

   Because his memory was poison.

   A shrill ringing filled the silent and still air around him, making Stephen stop abruptly, head spinning with the startling noise. He didn’t answer, the push out of his head too violent for him to fully recognize where he was, what was happening for a moment.

   The Cloak ran an edge gently along his cheek making him let out a heavy sigh, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders. The ringing stopped and Stephen took stock of where he was. He was in a park about five blocks away from the Sanctuary. He blew out a humorless laugh, now that he found himself connecting with the world again, he tried to focus.

   He was cold, his legs nearly gone numb and his toes aching in warning. His nose and cheeks were stinging, while the tips of his ears had joined his legs. But he liked it, these sensations were not ones he experienced with Dormammu, the creature enjoyed torture to be certain, but his methods had always been primitive. It had never considered actions like tossing him out into space or into a sun.

   He was alright, he would be alright, just like always. Few more hours and it would be like the nightmare never happened.

   But, with this clarity came the realization of what he had just done.

   Tony.

   He had walked out of the Sanctuary, their bedroom without a word, had recoiled from the man’s touch, and likely just set off every internal alarm the man had. All this time, Stephen had never told Tony about Dormammu, hadn’t had a reason too. The thought of telling him made Stephen’s mouth go dry, made his throat tighten until all his words were strangled, sent him spiralling back into the past. He didn’t want that, didn’t know if he could do that.

   Another shrill ring filled the air and this time Stephen didn’t think, his hand already slipping into his breast pocket and pulling from its depths his new Stark phone, pushed upon him by his lover. Tony’s name lit up the screen and Stephen could practically feel the urgency on the other side.

   He had to go back, preferably before the man called in the entirety of the Avengers team to locate him or hacked into every camera in the city, he knew better then to put it past him. Still, that didn’t stop the dread that swirled heavily in his stomach, or the stinging in his eyes, or the shiver that felt suspiciously like fear sliding up his spine.

   He didn’t answer the phone, instead he fished out his sling ring. Sliding it onto his trembling fingers Stephen took a few stabilizing breaths. He felt…better but still out of it, and he was already mourning the loss of cold against his skin. The portal came to life and Stephen stepped through and was utterly unsurprised by what he found.

   Tony was in the foyer, pacing back and forth, phone at his ear, robe thrown over a T-shirt with the housing unit for his suit equipped. His lover was still barefoot, but he could tell, even in the three seconds before drawing the man’s attention, he was buzzing with anxious energy.

   It all stopped the moment he caught sight of Stephen, his dark eyes focusing on him all once, the phone being abruptly turned off and dropped into the pocket of his robe. Stephen had enough sense to feel bad for the obvious distress he caused the man…but the thought fled in the face of the awkward silence thickening the air between them.

   Tony seemed at a loss for what to say, which was all well and good because Stephen was the same. He didn’t know what words might convince Tony he was fine without being forced to delve into unwanted details, didn’t know how to ease the man’s worry.

   Luckily Tony wasn’t one to put up with the silence for long. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his still messy hair, slid it down his face and seemed to take a relived breath, before tentatively offering a smile. It immediately helped Stephen relax.

   “Are you alright?”

   It was difficult to tell really. His head was still filled to bursting with unwanted memories and the dim room was anything but helpful, the only light being the moon and street lamps seeping through the windows and a small lamp by the doorway. He yearned for the cold but to disappear twice would be really inconsiderate.

   “Fine,” he managed.

   Tony nodded even though Stephen knew he didn’t believe him, “ok, how about I get us some tea and you go warm up in the sitting room?”

   The suggestion would be odd if Stephen didn’t know him so well by now. After all, Stephen could just summon the tea, no need for Tony to go through the effort of making it. His lover was trying to give them both a moment to get their heads on straight, and he knew nothing soothed Tony like creating something with his hands, mindless as it might be.

   So, Stephen nodded and made his way to the sitting room without a word. As he went, he let the Cloak unwind from his neck and hover next to him in its original form. He peeled off his coat and left it to hang off one of the side tables. Summoning a fire, which roared to life, in the fireplace he also set about lighting the room properly, namely turning on at least four of the small lamps scattered around the room.

   He immediately breathed easier with the shadows pushed back into their corners. It didn’t help the dread in his stomach or the pounding of his heart as he tried to figure out what to say, how to explain to Tony that…that what? He fought a being, was tortured and killed thousands of times, was practically an old man in a middle-aged body?

   “Stephen?”

   He wasn’t able to stop himself from flinching at Tony’s voice, despite the man’s attempt to keep it quiet and non-threatening.

   Tony didn’t say anything, and Stephen couldn’t bare to see the expression on his face, choosing instead to keep his back to him, warming his hands in the fire. He heard the quiet _tink_ of a cup being set down on the glass side table, no doubt next to Stephen’s usual chair. There was another from the other side, heard him pause behind him, waiting.

   Stephen turned slowly, found Tony standing there with that look that said he was reading and analyzing Stephen’s behaviour since he woke up. For a moment the hand hanging loosely at his side twitched and he thought Tony might try to reach out to him, the man was incredibly tactile, but instead he just took a little breath and turned to sit in his chair.

   Stephen stared, something warm and soothing moving through him at that simple action. An action that said, _ok I get it, I won’t touch you_.

   He went to his own chair, the Cloak coming to wrap around him before he sat. Stephen could feel Tony’s eyes on him, could practically hear his mind whirring with questions about why the Cloak could touch him and not Tony. But still he said nothing, and Stephen found himself sipping at his tea while silence once more fell over them.

   To Stephen’s surprise they stayed that way. Sipping tea and watching the flames as the minutes ticked by. It wouldn’t last, though Stephen found himself comforted by the other man’s presence, his simple, quiet promise.

   In the end, Stephen decided to break it. He owed the man some kind of explanation, at the very least needed to make sure that if he made a similar escape in the future, he wouldn’t need to worry about Tony back here.

   “I’m sorry,” were the first words to slip past his lips.

   Tony’s beautiful brown eyes flashed to his, holding his gaze with something like confusion, “what for?”

   “Running off, scaring you, the usual.”

   Tony sighed, put down the tea which was only half done, “listen, I’ll admit you just leaving without an explanation was…unsettling. But to be fair…it is still a thousand times better then half the things I’ve done to deal with the nightmares.”

   It was true. The first time Tony called him after a nightmare, before they had even officially been together, he found the man drunk and in a horrifying rage, throwing bottles and cursing Stephen, Thanos, anything that breathed really.

   “I just…I had no way to know if you were ok, plus you didn’t answer the phone. I wasn’t sure what to do and when I touched you before and you pulled away…I was scared Stephen.”

   “That…” Stephen searched for something truthful and appeasing. “Was really irresponsible of me.”

   Tony snorted, “I think you earned the right to be a little irresponsible Stephen.” He paused as if testing the waters before deciding to dive right in, “it was a bad one, right?”

   Stephen could point out that it was pretty damn obvious from his reaction, he could roll his eyes and Tony would just smile, he could say nothing and let the silence consume them once more. He didn’t. Stephen was tired, exhausted in his bones as though sitting here now, he felt the entire weight of all his extra years pushing down on him harshly, trying to crush him into dust. Was there a word for that kind of exhaustion? Debilitated? Crippled? Dead? Hardly mattered, he felt it all.

   “Yes, it was bad.”

   Tony’s fingers tapped on the arm of his chair while his other seemed to be rubbing his fingers together, a nervous habit that Stephen usually found endearing but was simply frustrating tonight, “was it Titan…or that dimension from last week?”

   Stephen winced. He wished it had been, better then reliving the stake that went straight through his back, the feeling of his flesh being peeled from his face, the boiling water he sat in for thirty minutes, the stoning, the severing of each individual limb….

   The Cloak squeezed his wrist harshly where it had furled around it and Stephen blinked rapidly, sickened by his own memory. He tried to erase the images by staring into the fire, wide-eyed and letting the heat dry them. His words slipped out, forgetting how unsensitive they might sound, forgetting Tony was not five feet across from him, “there are worse things then Titan, then Thanos.”

   There was an intake of breath and Stephen wished it was enough to drag him from the depths of his mind, “They were a party trick compared to this. Thanos…the Mad Titan,” a humorless laugh, cold and bitter filled the air. “what a joke. He was nothing, he was a bear in a world of giants that don’t even bother to know are names.”

   Absently his hand came up to stroke the Stone around his neck, “perhaps he was onto something…I never considered. Half the universe…would it have killed him too? Would he have been dusted…all the people he destroyed.” He mused to himself.

   “ _Stephen,”_ the harsh snap of his name, the sound of something shattering to pieces knocked him from his head as thoroughly as if he’d been punched.

   He looked up, realized there were tears gathered in his eyes. Tony was across from his, sitting on the edge of his seat as though he wanted to launch himself at him. On the ground at his feet was his tea, smashed into delicate little porcelain bits, the way they glinted in the firelight, catching Stephen’s eye.

   “Stephen,” much more calmly this time.

   He looked up at him again, his words from only moments earlier echoing through his brain and sending his stomach twisting, his skin crawling, “I’m sorry,” he gasped.

   Tony’s hands came up like he was trying to calm a wild animal, “its ok Stephen, shhh its ok. You were upset, its fine. Its ok.”

   Stephen nodded, latching onto his words, the comforting sound of his voice.

   “Just breathe with me sweetheart, you’re going to end up in a panic attack. I won’t touch you, just watch me.”

   Stephen hadn’t even realized his breathing had picked up so much but now he could feel the prickling heat on his skin, the feeling of something crawling up his back. His eyes locked on Tony’s chest, the slow rise and fall of his hand. It took a solid three minutes for Stephen to match the rhythm, even though he was the one who taught Tony the exercise.

   It did work, however, and soon enough Stephen was slumped in his chair, staring across at Tony’s worried eyes, “alright?”

   Stephen nodded.

   “Ok. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

   “No,” Stephen responded quickly. “Its fine, I over reacted, I wasn’t thinking.”

   Tony shook his head, “we really need to stop apologizing to each other love.”

   Stephen couldn’t help the tentative smile curling up his lips, “we have a lot to apologize for.”

   Tony matched his with another small smile, “sure, but not to each other.”

   Stephen couldn’t help himself, there had always been something about Tony ever since the aftermath of Titan that inspired him reach a new level of comfort in his presence. Perhaps it was because of the predictability, Stephen had seen so many versions of the man he could practically recite his intentions, and he knew they would be pure.

   “I…it wasn’t-” the words became strangled on the way out, dying before reaching his lips.

   Tony seemed to understand what he was trying to do, however, and immediately shook his head, still sitting on the edge of his seat, “Stephen no, its alright. You don’t have to tell me about it, especially if it sets you off again.”

   That was just it though, the earnest concern in Tony’s eyes, the slight tremor in his body from the sheer effort of not touching Stephen, made him want to explain. He was still afraid, still felt sick to his stomach at the prospect, worried that Tony wouldn’t understand, that he might feel like all these months of hard-work they had put in to help him through the trauma of Titan was nothing, insignificant compared to Stephen’s experience. He didn’t want that, wouldn’t be able to stand it if Tony began hiding behind walls again in an attempt to preserve his pride.

   Yet, after all this time, didn’t Tony deserve to know? If the nightmares were in fact returning then he didn’t want the man worried about him while he went on his nightly walks, he deserved to at least understand.

   So, when Stephen’s lips moved again and no sound came out, he decided that was enough. He hadn’t spoken the being’s name more then a dozen times since the incident and all were to Wong, who already knew. But if Tony could sit in his arms and explain every horrific nightmare, then Stephen would spit out that one damned word.

   He tried again.

   Tony’s concern was growing, as Stephen’s aching hands clenched into fists at his side, as he clenched his jaw several times, closed his eyes, then finally, finally, on a heavy exhale that felt like pushing a rock out of his throat, he spat it out, painful and filled to bursting with red-hot hatred.

   “Dormammu.”

   He was breathing like he’d just run a marathon, his eyes opened and something inside him felt…broken. Not snapped or even bent, like there was this special little padlock that just fell away. Instead of being liberating, it was terrifying, the words coming out in a stream of noise, all of it nonsense to Stephen’s ears but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to even though the thought made him sick, he didn’t want to stop just as much even though that free feeling felt like floating out into nothingness with no tether to bring him back.

   He spoke.

   Until the words died on their own, falling to dust on a tired exhale.

   Until the fire seemed to burn down to embers.

   Until the deaths he described became but minor variations of the same.

   Until he spotted the tear tracks on Tony’s cheeks.

   Until that crawling feeling dissipated all on its own.

   Until finally, _finally_ , after so long, so, so long….he was empty of it.

   He had been filled to bursting for so long. This swirling creeping thing ever waiting inside him, to terrorize him, to make him remember, phantom pains, and agonized screaming. Violet eyes, baritone voices, rotating green. Now…he was nothing, he felt so completely void of anything, everything that he hardly felt himself anymore.

   He was so far in his head that he almost didn’t hear it. That sad coaxing voice, asking him to look up, to listen, to please respond. It was scared, worried but blessedly void of that cloying pity he detested so much.

   Stephen raised his head, stared into warm brown eyes at his feet, kneeling not a foot away, saw the relief fill them, saw that sweet, sweet smile, the one that had been slowly putting him back together these past few months and he suddenly didn’t feel so unmoored.

   “I’m sorry,” the phrase was just to fitting, the only thing floating in his head at this moment.

   Tony shook his head, “you have _nothing_ to be sorry for.”

   “I can’t stop,” he murmured.

   “Stop what?”

   Stephen couldn’t look away from those eyes, feeling suddenly tethered, firm and unyielding.

   “The nightmares, the running.”

   He was already nodding, “yeah, that’s alright. If that’s what you need.”

   “The touching…it hurts to be touched after,” he tried to explain but he could already see the man understood. Of course, he did.

   He was so fucking tired, and empty, and he wanted this man before him to make it better…just for a little while. He looked at the small space between them, if he closed his eyes, he figured he’d be able to feel the body heat radiating off Tony.

   He swallowed thickly, tried to make his voice steady, confident. He feared he only half succeeded, “but…I’d like to…I’d like to be touched now, please?”

   Tony’s expression crumpled into something unreadable, but there was a smile, gentle as only Tony Stark knew how to be as he stood and immediately bundled Stephen’s into his arms, squeezing himself into the chair next to him.

   Stephen didn’t hesitate, burrowing his face in the man’s neck, reveling in the fingers brushing through his hair, the comforting scent of sweat, oil, and peppermint, his shocking distinct scent. Tony for his part seemed to melt against him, the evidence of his tense restraint from touching Stephen turning into pure relief at finally holding him. Stephen hadn’t felt safer in years then he did in that moment.

   “I’m here. I’m here.”

   That sick feeling in Stephen’s stomach eased a little. There was still low thrum of uncertainty, it was one thing to hear the details, it would be another to witness it first-hand….the nightmares got violent sometimes but it was nothing they hadn’t dealt with after Titan. The rest…time would tell. He didn’t want Tony to worry about yet another threat to their world, so soon after their victory, he didn’t want to see that old fear of magic slide back into his eyes.

   “I’ll be here, I promise you. Stephen, it will be alright.”

   Stephen found himself believing him, because sitting here in his arms that emptiness seemed to begin filling in at the edges, began feeling a little less poisoned, the dark a little less scary.

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't really go where I wanted it to so there might be a different variation in the future but oh well.   
> I'd love to hear what you guys think as always!


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